Yeah, Well, I'm No Picnic Myself
by Lion8520
Summary: Katrick! It's set just after the end of the movie. Ch. 3 up now! Ch. 3 is about K and P making music! No, that is not a euphemism. Katarina X Patrick. Formerly "Yeah, Well, I'm No Picnic Either." The story title has to do with the activities of Ch. 1.
1. Mount Rainier

**Disclaimer: I don't own Kat or Patrick (much as I wish I did) but I do own the plot. And the 5 score and 7 years ago CD. =]**

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Kat's voice was rising, her face was growing pink, and her temper was flaring. She was in the middle of a heated debate on foreign aid, and the kids she was arguing her point against were ignorant little snobs who had no clue about global affairs.

"Stop putting words in my mouth!" one, bolder or stupider than the rest, said.

"I'm not putting words in you mouth! I wouldn't go _near_ your mouth!" She flung back contemptuously, disgusted by his obvious absorption in his meaningless, consumer-driven life. "Or any other part of your anatomy, for that matter!" she spat out venomously, her eyes narrowing to sparking chocolate slits.

"_Hey_!" the boy, a know ladies-man, could not take the blow to his ego, so he strode over apishly to land a blow to Kat, and since he was unable to do that intellectually, he resolved to do it physically. Kat straightened, as fired up as he, and was about to pummel the self-centered gigolo when Mr. McDonald, a teacher large enough to be The Rock's twin, stepped in between them. "Stratford, office, _now_."

"But he --"

"NOW."

"And just so everybody knows, the Freedom Of Choice Act is one of the most feebleminded, moronic, dim-witted, ethically unsound pieces of legislature ever passed because it funnels our government's money - our tax dollars - into morally corrupt proceedings! And will cause our grandchildren and their grandchildren and their grandchildren to end up paying billions of dollars more than they already are to China!" With that she snatched up her backpack and stalked out, being sure to slam the door, so it appeared as if leaving were her idea, the dramatic conclusion to her rant.

Just as she entered the hall, a door a few classrooms down opened and shut on the sounds of a teacher's ineffective protests, and there stood Patrick.

His unruly dark curls were as unkempt as ever, but his usually inimical eyes turned uncharacteristically sweet as soon as they lit upon Kat. He flashed his wide white grin. "Hey there, girlie."

"Patrick! Wow - great timing!" She beamed, too, and flitted over to his side, her long blond hair swinging and dangerous air evaporating instantaneously. He kissed her lips softly and then slung his long arm around her shoulders as she tucked neatly against his side.

"Not really. I heard you yelling through the walls and decided we could ditch this place and go have some fun." He smiled down impishly at her.

As mischievous as Patrick, she smirked up at him. "What kind of fun?"

"Oh, you know - defacing property, instigating conflagrations, mutilating neighbor's pets, abducting and corrupting small children…" he trailed off enthusiastically.

Kat giggled. "The usual."

"Or, y'know, we could go drop by Ms. Perky's - where I presume you, Missy, 've been sent - and then hit up a Wendy's and have a picnic…?"

Kat frowned. "And support fast-food chains, where the majority of America's obesity epidemic problems originate?"

"How about Delaware's, then, _Rebel_?" He blew in her face playfully.

Kat nodded in the affirmative. "You got it, Buster."

He leaned down and nuzzled her neck, then stuck his tongue in her ear. Patrick swiftly dodged a swipe for his gut, then recaptured Kat in an embrace from behind, pinning her arms to her sides. He rested his chin on her head as they ambled along the deserted hallway, her black backpack crushed between them.

They stopped in at Ms. Perky's office. Although she not surprised to see either of them, she _was_ a little surprised to see them together, but gave them the usual speech to stop acting like the delinquents she knew they were, at least for a few more months until they graduated and were someone else's problem. Then she inquired if they would do some community service to atone for their bad behavior by fornicating in front of her (for purposes yet undisclosed), which they both immediately rejected, repulsed at her perverted mind.

Patrick gave his keys to Scurvy (whom he carpooled with) so that his best friend and neighbor could drive his car home, and then Patrick and Kat finally approached Kat's Dart. After a brief and playful spat over who would drive, they set out to the local chicken farm and restaurant, Delaware's; Patrick manned the pedals while Kat sat on his lap, steering. They pulled into Delaware's, and Patrick bought some chicken strips and hot sauce.

"Next stop, Mount Rainier!" Patrick declared grandly in his smooth, deep voice. They drove there with another joint effort, parked, and hiked a little bit off into the forest.

When Patrick found a old, enormous pine tree he particularly liked, he took the bag of food in his mouth and scampered up it, his tall, muscular frame surprisingly graceful and squirrelly.

Kat gaped, wondering how it was physically possible, but also realizing how absolutely lucky she was.

When he reached a branch he deemed appropriately high, he balanced the food on it and peered down. "Well, come on, then. You won't die from a fall from this height!" Patrick's brow furrowed between his eyes as he reconsidered. "Well, not unless you land _really_ stupidly. Like, on your head."

Kat frowned at that last remark, and Patrick beamed roguishly and exclaimed in his Aussie accent, "Well, we can't have you damage your pretty little head, now, could we? So I won't let you fall and die."

Kat couldn't restrain a smile, and started up. Patrick knew to let her do it herself (_feminists,_ he though to himself with a mental sigh_), _but when she was almost to Patrick's' chosen branch, he couldn't resist and reached down and grabbed her wrists, pulling her up. She squeezed her eyes shut and a little squeak escaped her as she dangled over 40 feet in the air, only Patrick's hands keeping her from plummeting. When he sat her on his lap, adjusting her so she would be most comfortable against his hard chest, she breathed a sigh of relief. He kissed her neck, and then her cheek. "You didn't think I'd let you _fall_, did you?"

"_NO_, the thought_ never_ even crossed my mind!" she cried sarcastically, throwing up her arms. But then Kat reassessed and picked up his arm and kissed the inside of the wrist that had most definitely _not_ dropped her.

"That's what I _thought_," Patrick whispered smugly in her ear, before kissing her thoroughly, 40 feet in the air.

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**Like it? Hate it? Indifferent? I want to hear it all! Review, please! :D (although, if you don't like it, I find it far more constructive if you tell me _why_ you disliked it. That way, I can work on that in the future) -Lion**


	2. With The Lights Out Its Less Dangerous

_OK, guys, here's part 2! I hope it lives up to your expectations…all your reviews were wonderful and I thank you all so much for them (each one of them made me feel so special) but now I'm scared I'll disappoint you! But I'll try anyway, because I think to not try at all would be worse. _

_And it's just another fluff chapter. I have a real plot working out in my head, but I'm really busy and I only have a little bit of time to write this and I don't have ALL the details worked out yet so I don't want to start on the main story. So here is just another fluff (I hope that's okay) chapter. Kat and Pat lovers unite!!! :D_

_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters._

_Claimer: I do own the plot and my copy of the movie (I just bought it!!!) :d_

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Katarina Stratford strummed a chord on her Squire Strat, frowning up at the ceiling. She switched a fret up and played that. She smiled and wrote the revision down in her leather-bound song book, satisfied with the tweak. She flicked a glance at the ornate clock hanging on the too-fancy wall. 8:48. Pat had asked her to meet him at the beach at 9:00; Time to go! Kat grabbed her jacket and keys, allowed her father to kiss her and affectionately kicked Bianca (since the Prom, they'd been more or less getting along), and darted out the door.

Across the city, Patrick Verona stuffed a handful of dry Lucky Charms into his mouth, washing it down with a swig of milk right from the jug. He pulled a Rolling Stones shirt on over his head (Kat would disapprove if he didn't wear a shirt - she'd think he was exploiting his sexuality over his mentality), humming Smells Like Teen Spirit. He snatched his car keys off the table and then gingerly placed Kat's surprise and a fluffy towel into the cardboard box (he'd already poked some holes in it with a screw driver) that his new muffler had come in. He smiled at it, whispering in his deep Australian inflection, "Be quiet, Little One, or you'll ruin the surprise!" before folding the top closed. He carried the box carefully out to his teal Jeep, placing it in the passenger seat, seat belting it in, and turning the blaring Black Sabbath way down.

When arrived, he spied Kat already on the beach. He set the box down quietly on the sand and came up behind Kat, who was gazing out at the waves. She didn't hear his footsteps in the sand, so he surprised her, hugging her from behind. She jumped slightly, but relaxed when she caught his scent and then calmed still farther when she saw and confirmed that it _was_ Patrick. "Hey."

"H-" Patrick didn't even get to finish when Kat cut him off, kissing him with a passion that surprised them both. He was stunned by her enthusiasm, but carried on with fervor until --

"Get a room, Freaks!" A boy from their grade, Bobby Ridgeway, called. He was just leaving the beach with his family, who were one of only 3 other clusters of people on the entire beach. Kat pulled away instantly and turned to storm off in his direction, reading to deliver Balls-Pulverizing Numero Dose, but Patrick put a hand on her shoulder. "Forget him. I thought you didn't care what people think of you."

"I-I don't," Kat stuttered, trying to think of an explanation. "I don't. It's just...insolence like that should never be tolerat-"

Patrick touched her lips with his fingertips. "Shh. It doesn't matter anyway - who needs their hatred when I have your blind affection?" He twisted words he'd said only a few weeks earlier.

She grinned and huffed, not quite sure whether to be pleased or offended. She figured it was the latter, but since the first option was much more enjoyable, she ducked out from under his fingertips and kissed him again. She jerked away when she heard a quiet mewling. "What was _that_?"

Patrick smiled. "I brought you something."

Kat shot him a puzzled look and squatted down, opening the box. She frowned when she saw nothing in it, wondering where the noise came from. She looked up at Patrick. "Didn't you hear-"

She was cut off by another pitiful yowl. She squinted into the darkest corner of the box, trying to see with only the light from the crescent moon. There, crouched in the corner, was a teeny scrap of a kitten, as coal black as the way the ocean currently looked. Patrick had tied silver ribbon into a dainty bow around its neck, and it was currently twisting his head around, attempting to bite the bow.

"I thought it was appropriate: a cat for Kat. Do you want him? I found him at the gas station garage, smeared with grease. I looked around, and couldn't find his Mum. If you want him, he's yours, but you don't have to take him, if you don't want to."

Kat smiled and reached in the box. "He doesn't _look_ like a filthy street cat…"

"Yeah, I gave him a bath. He does _not_ like water. Feisty little guy, but he acts tougher than he really is."

By this point, Kat had the kitten out and was holding him up for better inspection. "He's adorable…" She laughed as he spat at her over the indignation of being dangled by the scruff. "But you have one thing wrong...your _he_ is a _she_." She giggled up at Patrick, who sat and pulled her into his lap. Kat tucked the cat against her, and they sat there, huddled, Patrick cuddling Kat and Kat cuddling the cat.

"So you do like her, then?" Patrick's brow crinkled.

"Yes, I do. And I'm sure my Dad and Bianca will need someone to keep them company when I go to Sarah Lawrence."

Patrick frowned a little, but tried to cover it up. College on the East coast was a sore spot for them; neither wanted to be separated, and the day was fast approaching. "I guess…what're you gunna call 'er?" He tweaked the diminutive feline's head, who hissed and swatted at him. He chuckled and ran one long finger down her back.

"A name, a name…" Kat murmured, musing. She stroked the kitten's head, who purred and rubbed against her fingers. The little lioness' inky tail stuck straight out.

"I think I'll call her Jane."

"That's a pretty name. Any particular reason?"

"Well, she's pretty independent and won't take crap from some of the more boorish males of this world." She looked pointedly up at Patrick. "It's after Jane Eyre."

The newly dubbed Jane succeeded in twisting her head around like an owl's. She sunk her needle-like teeth into the ribbon and thrashed until the bow came undone, then looked up at the couple with gigantic, innocent, shining jade-green eyes.

"I still think the ending is a little screwy…a cottage in the middle of the woods with a crippled Edward Rochester, really? And how could she want to bang some geriatric dude who could pass as a corpulent gypsy woman? And how could he not know Bertha Mason was deranged when he _married_ her?"

"You've read it?" Kat asked, mildly impressed. She knew Patrick was smarter than most people realized, but she never pictured him reading _that_ novel.

"A few times, actually. I'm not sure why…it's kinda, like I said, effed."

"Hey! Don't make fun of it, I love that book. Jane's intelligent and strong, better than most female protagonists of that era!"

"Alright. And, by the way, you'd definately kick Blanche's ass in a beauty contest."

"Well, thank you. And thanks for Jane, I really like her."

Patrick murmured "you're welcome" between kisses on her neck, smiling. Then he leaned back so he was reclining on the powdery sand, and Kat lay back, too, so she was lying on top of him, as if Patrick were a bed (in fact, Kat decided that he made a suitable mattress, if a little hard). He spread his jacket across her torso, and it was so big that it covered her _and_ his stomach on both sides. He slipped his arms under it so that he could keep them folded across her stomach. Jane settled contentedly onto Patrick's chest, pressed against Kat's slender neck and partially tangled in her wavy blond hair.

They lay there for hours, watching the stars, sometimes silent, sometimes talking. They talked about a plethora of things, but whenever Patrick brought up Sarah Lawrence Kat quickly changed the subject, her voice adopting its "irked" tone. She preferred to live in denial rather than worrying about unpleasant, impending things. Kat started to doze off (though she fought it: she didn't want to be the first to fall asleep and let Patrick _win_, even though she had pulled an all-nighter the night before reading _The Golden Notebook_), and Patrick hummed Semisonic songs. She could feel the vibrations of his rich, low voice since her head was resting on his chest. Patrick carried the tune until she drifted off, and then let her sleep for another hour, enjoying the contact and warmth, and also the fact that she lost her sharp edges entirely in her dreams. He finally decided it was time to bring her back when Jane started twitching in her sleep, her tiny claws reaching out to snag some dreamt mouse but catching Kat's ear instead.

Kat stirred, and Patrick kissed the top of her head, the only part he could reach. He sat up slowly, trying not to disturb her too much, and picked her up bridal-style. Jane scurried up to perch on his shoulder, her prickly claws finding purchase in his shoulder, giving her a good grip. Patrick carried the sleeping girl, who was still wrapped in his jacket, to her car. While he was easily cradling her slight frame, she giggled sleepily and mumbling something along the lines of "Haaaa…mah fa'her's prolly 'avin' ah fit ri' now…," which was quite true. It was way past her curfew, and all Mr. Stratford knew was that she was on a beach (which had a reputation for being pretty deserted this late) with her boyfriend, unsupervised. At the current moment, he was hyperventilating and ranting to himself.

Patrick found Kat's keys in her pocket, and settled her into the passenger seat. He buckled her seatbelt and let Jane clamber onto her new mistress's lap, where she promptly conked out again.

Patrick drove the two extremely-vulnerable-and-sweet-looking, sleeping Outstanding-Examples-Of-Female-Power home. When he reached Kat's house, he held Jane in one hand and supported the stumbling Kat with the other, just as he had done on their "first date." When Mr. Stratford opened the door, Patrick delivered to him Kat, Kat's keys, and, to the gynecologist's distinct surprise, a tiny onyx kitten. Kat waved and smiled blearily, plopping down in the chair in the foyer and curling up, knees tucked under chin.

"'Night, girlie," Patrick whispered, grinning.

He turned to her father. "G'night, sir," he declared with a mocking salute, then closed the door softly and jumped down the steps. He started his long walk home, smiling his patent smile, resolving to get his car early the next morning before _all_ of the seagulls crapped on it.

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**What do you think?! Tell me, tell me! Please! And thank you to all you delightful people who reviewed Ch. 1!** _[Oh, and I know Kat seems OOC when she makes out with Pat without even talking first, but I want any one of you (if you're a girl) to honestly tell me that you wouldn't do the same thing if Patrick Verona (Heath LEDGER) were your boyfriend...and remember, they only have so much time together left. Why not make the most of it?]_


	3. A Seven Nation Army Couldn't Hold Me

**Hey guys, sorry it's been a while! I kinda have a plot line going now, which makes this _not_ my favorite chapter. But, anyway, I really hope you like it. I can't picture anything hotter than a drumming, singing Heath Ledger, so I hope you all have lovely mental images, as well. =) Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. Claimer: I do own the plot and an adorable little mouse who bites everybody but me. **

**Oh, and just to clear some recent changes up:**

**1) I changed the rating to T for this chapter, just to be sure.**

**2) I changed the name of the story (from "I'm No Picnic Either" to "I'm No Picnic Myself") because that's the quote that Patrick Verona actually says. I realized this a long time ago but only just recently realized that you could change titles.**

**And another clarification: The full name for this chapter is "I'm Gonna Fight 'Im Off, A Seven Nation Army Couldn't Hold Me Back." But the purple bar limitation forced me to truncate it.**

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Kat sat on her porch railing, sketching. She had started out on natural subjects (trees, birds, squirrels…), but found herself inking in a pair of crinkling brown (with flecks of green) eyes.

"Hey, Kat," A familiar, smooth voice called, and she startled, sliding off the railing but thankfully landing rather gracefully on her feet.. She heard a startled hiss and glanced down to see a very fluffed-up Jane glaring up at her. She had narrowly missed stepping on the tiny kitten. In the 5 days that she'd had her, Kat rarely forgot that Jane was around, which was mostly due to all the trouble Jane had already gotten herself into. The feisty kitten was marginally better behaved around Kat (and, by extension, Patrick), but she was already giving Bianca and Mr. Stratford hell.

Patrick strolled around the porch corner and sauntered up to Kat. He tweaked Jane's ear, then kissed Kat under the jaw.

Kat grinned. "Hey. What's up, Hoodlum?"

"I believe I may possibly have good news! Scurvy was cleaning out his garage the other day - that was long overdue, even by guy standards -" Kat rolled her eyes "- and he came across his old drum set. He was going to give it away and offered it to me. How's your band coming along? Have any new members? If you got a drummer, you can have the kit."

Kat spun around and tilted her head back to look at Patrick upside down. "I don't…yet. I was thinking of having Mandella on bass…she doesn't play, but I've heard it's pretty easy to pick up, and she took guitar lessons when she was 8. So I think she'll be a good bassist. But the drummer…" Kat trailed off, frowning thoughtfully. Then she was visibly struck by a fantastic idea - her face lit up, her eyes widened, and her brows lifted - and she smirked impishly. "Hey, Pat…"

Patrick's face instantly turned wary, his muscles tensed, and his brow furrowed. "What is that look…? I don't like that look."

Kat smiled angelically at him. "Oh, I've just decided who the perfect drummer is." She twisted around and drummed her fingers against his chest.

Patrick had a sinking feeling he knew who she meant, but he was ardently hoping that he was wrong. "Who?"

"You, you dolt."

Patrick made a face and groaned. "No."

Kat assumed her "mulish" expression. "Yes. You will be our drummer, and you will like it."

Patrick assumed _his_ "stubborn as an ass" persona. "No. I won't do it. And that's _final_."

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2 hours later, Patrick was sitting on a drum stool in Kat's garage, surrounded by a dusty but high quality drum set. He fiddled with the sticks, trying to spin them around his fingers but failing miserably.

Kat stood behind him and said, "Okay, let's start with something easy. How about Seven Nation Army?"

Pat swiveled on the stool and cocked one eyebrow. "Okay, now, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't the White Stripes' drummer a chick? And isn't the guitarist-slash-singer a dude?" He flashed his signature grin.

"Yeah, so? You think I can't play as well as a man?" Kat stood up ramrod straight and lifted her chin a few notches.

"No."

"Well, then, you think you can't measure up to a woman?" Kat's eyebrows pulled together and her mouth hardened, and then her head tilted and her flaxen brows shot up.

"Hell no! I can do it." Patrick puffed out his chest, reminding Kat of a breeding-season puffin.

Kat smiled, put the CD in, and turned the volume up. Kat played along - she'd already practiced this song (since she'd gotten her new guitar she'd played ceaselessly and had the calluses to prove it) - and Patrick listened attentively, his head cocked slightly. Even though he knew the song by heart, he now tried to pay more attention to when exactly the beats switched up, and exactly which drums were being hit.

When the song was over, Kat switched the stereo off and Patrick played around on the drums until he mastered the beats used. Then Kat turned the song on again, and they played along with it. Patrick _almost_ nailed it the first time, and by the second try he played it perfectly.

"Ready to try it without the recording?" Kat asked, and Patrick nodded. "And you'll sing?" he asked, brushing his dark curls out of his eyes.

Kat colored and shook her head, her golden hair swaying. "No, I don't have a good voice. Besides, like you said, the singer's a guy. You should do it."

Patrick was taken aback. "Uh, no thanks. I've had enough public singing to last for the rest of my days." He put his face in his hand, recalling the horribly embarrassing time when he serenaded Kat in front of the majority of Padua High's students.

"Yes, but that just showed what a great singer - and performer - you are." Kat plopped on his lap, laughing.

"Mmhm," Patrick said sarcastically. "besides, how am I supposed to sing if I'm playing the drums?"

"Uh, we hook up a mic. And you sing." Kat spoke slowly, as if she were explaining a basic concept to an ADHD toddler.

Patrick still looked skeptical and resolute, so Kat turned to a different technique. She kissed Pat sweetly and then looked up at him with puppy dog eyes. "_Please_ sing for us?" she wheedled, overly saccharine. He shook his head, but she could see his resolve chip a tiny bit. "For me?" she whispered, and kissed under his ear. He jerkily shook his head. "C'mon…" Kat left trails of kisses around his head and neck and the finally kissed his lips. "You won't do it for _me_?" She did her best to sound hurt, looking up into his eyes. She could see that he was faltering, and tilted her head so that her forehead rested on his shoulder and her chin directly under his adam's apple. She blinked, knowing he would feel her eyelashes brush against his neck. Butterfly kisses.

Patrick moaned, then threw up his arms and huffed. "Fine! I'll do it. Since when did you turn into a minx?"

Kat laughed gleefully and fluttered her eyelashes. "Oh, I don't know...but so far it's worked well!"

Patrick rolled his eyes. "Alright, let's go. One, two, three, four!" Kat started the intro, and in two measures Patrick started in. When it came time, he sang, putting all of his emotion into it. "_I'm gonna fight 'em off. A seven nation army couldn't hold me back. They're gonna rip it off, taking their time right behind my back…"_

Kat's jaw hung slack as she played, impressed at how Patrick could sing and play the song perfectly with so little practice. But what really amazed her was how he could give his smooth, deep voice the sensual, raspy edge that the song required while still making it his own. In Kat's opinion, it sounded better than the original. _"…And I'm bleeding and I'm bleeding and I'm bleeding right before the Lord…All the words are gonna bleed from me and I will think no more…and the stains coming from my blood tell me go back home…"_

When the song ended, Kat ran over and hugged Patrick, emitting a very un-Kat-like squeal. She couldn't stop grinning.

"Well, aren't you excited, little Maverick…." Patrick kissed her enthusiastically, and they clung together, exchanging passionate kisses until Mr. Stratford banged on the door and yelled, "Cut it out or get out, Verona!" They pulled apart, laughing, breath mingling, and then Kat murmured, "What should we call our band? I've already asked Mandella; She has no ideas."

"Dunno, Kat." He pursed his mouth crookedly, thinking.

"Pat… - wait, that's cool. I never noticed - our names rhyme!" Kat looked as gleeful as Coach Chapin when he was eating his appropriated Cheetos.

Patrick smiled lopsidedly. "So they do. Okay, as for names…how about something hardcore…that rhymes."

"Mmmm," Kat mused, "Matt Sat?"

"Nah."

"Fat Rat?"

"Eh…nope."

"Rat Fat?"

"No." Patrick's eyes unfocused and his face twisted into a disgusted mask as he thought about something that Kat didn't even _want_ to fathom.

"Uhh…Gnat Hat?" Kat was rapidly running out of words that rhymed with their names.

"Mm. Not great, but -" Patrick squinted one eye up, considering.

"…Bat Vat?"

"Yes! That's it - we have a winner! Yep, that's definitely the one." Patrick cracked his knuckles reflexively. "So, are we now, officially, Bat Vat?'"

"Sure."

Patrick snorted. "I can see it now: 'Come see Bat Vat at the House of Blues! Tickets start at just $150! Get them now, because they'll sell out soon!' Bat Vat will definitely become sensational, the biggest, baddest band on the scene. We'll tour the country until we turn 40, and then we'll go on 'hiatus' until we 'reunite' and tour again! How's that sound?" Patrick beamed, his pearly whites flashing. "Fun, right?"

"After I get out of Sarah Lawrence?" Kat crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows. She didn't do it antagonistically or angrily; She was just preparing for the battle that she knew would follow.

Patrick blew air out noisily. She just _had_ to go there. Usually, they avoided the subject of college because it was a contentious, upsetting aspect of their relationship, but whenever it did come up, sparks flew. "Well, how about skipping college and going straight on to touring? That way we could be together all the time and still make money. And have fun."

"I know! Why don't _you _get into Sarah Lawrence, too, and then we can _both_ go to New York? And after we get our degrees, then we can launch into whatever fantasy for your - our - future you want!"

"It's _you_ that's living in fantasies! You're the one who thinks that I will magically get accepted into this expensive, posh college (which is sure to be teeming with overachivers) and that I will thrive in an overbearing, strictly controlled environment! What even makes you think that they'll accept a trouble-making delinquent who doesn't 'apply himself' and who has not done _one_ extracurricular activity? Huh? Why don't you stop pushing me to fit into this mold that you've dreamt up and get out of these plans that you've harbored since you were 5? Things change. Your imagination is not reality. People aren't always the way you want them to be! So sorry I can't be 'that' boyfriend. Maybe you should just find someone who can escort your royal highness to your precious Sarah Lawrence, because I can't!" Patrick patted his pockets, searching desperately for a cigarette, but he had none; he'd stopped carrying them weeks ago, when he'd started falling for Kat.

"Maybe I will! I don't need to be dragged down by someone who doesn't even try, someone who considers himself so much more inferior than he actually is! Patrick…you're so…you're so…_insufficient_, which is only appalling because you aren't insufficient in the least." Kat threw her arms up in exasperation, he jaw locking.

"Then find yourself someone sufficient," Patrick growled, before storming out the garage door, taking care to slam it behind himself.

Kat sunk down on the concrete floor, shocked and irate, and listened to Patrick's Jeep's engine roar to life. She heard it speed away and turned to look at the vacant drum set. Remembering just minutes before when they'd played so well together, Kat slumped and put her head in her hands. She was enraged to find that she felt wetness on her face; she roughly brushed away the tears and bit her hand until she had calmed down enough that she wouldn't scream.

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**A/N: I hope I caught all of the spelling and grammar mistakes (but I was using a weird font when I wrote (and proofread) it, so it may have remaining errors that didn't look as obvious as they normally would've). If you notice any, pointing them out to me (so that I may fix them) would be nice!**

**Okay, now, the last time I was paranoid about the song's release date and the movie's time frame, but this time I'm pretty sure I'm actually wrong. A major, ligitimate anachronism: the song didn't come out until after the movie, but I didn't realize** **that until I looked it up _after_ I wrote the whole thing. Yeah, I know, I'm a genius.** **And I could've _sworn_ the White Stripes were older! But I'm just gonna overlook that blaring error. Ah, the glory of fiction. :]**

**And yeah, I'm aware the ending sucks, but we all know that with their personalities, they would _not_ have a perfectly harmonious relationship. **

**Also, the maverick reference is not to Palin, just in case anyone was wondering. That word was great _way_ before she came along.**

**Last but certainly not least, I have a** QUESTION **for all you wonderful readers: should I have Kat sing? I'm not sure if I should keep her "I have a bad voice" as an honest, literal remark or as a humble, wow-she's-gonna-surprise-us-with-a-fantastic-voice comment. So, anyone have an opinion on that? (And any other opinions you have I want to hear!)**

_**As always, please review, and I sincerely thank you for taking the time to read this! :D**_


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